When I found out I was with child in late 2003 I was elated! My husband and I are planners and my pregnancy was no exception. We had been together (on and off) for over twelve years before we carefully crafted our entrance into married life. Our first order of business once we got there: Kids. We were purposeful in our procrastination to start our family for a bevy of reasons. One of them was the slight issue of geography. We lived in two different states. He in Alabama and I in New York. We found ourselves this way because of our careers and my unquenchable thirst for what’s next.
So in July of 2003 I packed up my New York City apartment, slung my guitar across my back and loaded up my rental car so I could make the well-thought-out, yet frighteningly uneasy trek down to Alabama, where my new life, my old man and many more adventures awaited me.
We started with the house, then the wedding and into my 33rd trip around the sun, the boy. My son. Chase. Named after a street sign, by my then single friend, Jen.
From the start, our very first moments together as mommy and baby, this boy of mine presented me with a host of challenges. I can still see his beautiful peaceful face, swaddled tight by the delivery room nurses, pink cheeks, teeny tiny little nose, beautiful blonde hair like his daddy, laid in my arms, not breathing. All three pounds, thirteen ounces of him, without air.
The rush, the franticness, the pull of my husband out of the room, away from me, to be with baby. The uncertainty and worry and fear, all clouded what should’ve been, and in some ways was, the most prolific moment of our lives. The well thought out forever we had planned as a family became blurry and riddled with anxiety.
The NICU followed. Us being separated during his first days on this earth. Him being cared for by strangers, unable to feel the touch of skin or hear the voice he came to know before he exited into chaos. He fought and fought in those early, tiny days of his pre-term life. I watched wires, feeding tubes, and incubation cribs become his reality and it broke my heart into a million pieces. I swore once we broke him out of there, I would never, ever put him down. I never have. I reached, I stretched, I begged I pleaded and finally I promised God my life in exchange for his. My former self be gone completely so I could nurture this human I had fallen so deeply and immeasurably in love with.
Chase’s early years followed this pattern. Me being delirious with the worry that if something went wrong, it would be wholly my fault, combined with my overwhelming love for him and my new role as his mom, his protector, his biggest cheerleader, his doctor, his nurse and careful observer of all things seen and unseen. He maintained his fighter spirit but also became one of the most loving, generous, kind, funny and highly excitable kids I have ever met. My greatest adventure, to date. The miracle that reunited me with my Faith.
No one tells you this, but I’m about to; One of the toughest parts of parenting is dealing with other parents in the early years, before your cherubs can make informed choices of their own. How you will be in constant teaching/learning mode as your own ideals and values come into play with others that may be as diverse and colorful as a box of Lego. When they are little and forming new friendships, these sweet babies are wide open. Open to anything and everything and better than that, they are accepting of it all. Even things that confuse them. They are given to us by God in the most perfect state.
Then enter us. With our jadedness. Our holier than thou ideals. Our penchant for competition and one-upedness. And of course the really deep seated, darker issues that come to the forefront and are much tougher to deal with. I cannot imagine what teachers go through. All of us with our perfect little angels and all. As parents, we set out to teach and instill upon our children our greatest values and sometimes the weight of that moral compass becomes burdensome when other ideas skew our lines and cross our boundaries.
In all, our first foray into parenting, especially for boys, brings on an onslaught of lessons that will form who we are raising. Sometimes they will present in small ways and sometimes in larger, more abstract ways. Either way, raising a man is sometimes something we are unqualified to do. Sometimes they will represent us in the most sensational ways and other times, they will make complete liars out of us. Sometimes they are just too much boy.
When Chase was around five years old and all racecar driver, cowboy and cop, all the time, we lived across the street from a family who had a small child around the same age. This sweet little boy would come over and play with both Chase and his little sister Tori (yes, we actually did it again. Second time went off without a hitch). This little boy liked to dress like a girl. It is not clear to me if he believed he was one or if that was just his “thing”. We will call him Trevor. Trevor would come over in head to toe little mermaid outfits, earrings, shoes, crown and all. None of us ever had a problem with this, but for the occasional “no, I’m the princess” spat between he and Tori. Chase and the other little boys in the neighborhood never blinked an eye. Trevor was always welcome and accepted - as is. If Tori was taking a nap, and a princess needed rescuing, these little boys knew where to go. It’s really beautiful to watch the innocence of children at work. Truly.
One summer day, Chase was over Trevor’s house when he was abruptly “sent home.” Of course, I leapt before I looked and jumped all over him about why he wasn’t allowed to play anymore and what he must’ve done to have been asked to leave. Through tears and confusion, my six year old son told me that Trevor wanted him to dress up like a girl and he didn’t want to, so Trevor’s mommy sent him home for “not playing nice.”
Y’all, if you don’t know me, you’re about to find out who I am.
In SHOCK, I grabbed Chase’s hand and marched over to the scene of the crime to explain that my child will never, not ever, be going over there again if the requirements for “playing nice” included going against the things that come naturally to him. Like wearing boy clothes.
It didn’t end well.
You see, this mother and I could never find a common place to coexist. Including Trevor in our lives was not enough and it became less and less about our acceptance of him, and more about conformation. I see so much of this in today’s ideals. Conformation requires pretending, not only in play but in life. It says, in order to fully accept me, you must also behave like me. I’m seeing this sentiment played out more and more in our world and it saddens me. We.Are.Not.All.Alike.
I guess, in this instance, Chase was simply too much boy, so we all moved on and never looked back. To date, I have never seen my son in girl’s clothing, nor has he ever asked to borrow anything of mine. It would be fine if he did, however, that scenario has never presented itself, in any way. We have yet to meet another Trevor, but are grateful, because teaching.
A couple of years later, when Chase hit the ripe old age of seven, he was in school with a bunch of boys, each one equally, if not more, rambunctious. Again, those poor teachers. I was acutely aware that Chase had some hyper activity in his veins (his dad and I are not exactly passive) and so I volunteered a ton, just to help ease the load. During these early elementary years, we were befriended by other boy moms. One stands out. We will call her Neurosis. Neurosis was a mixed bag of hyperactivity, bipolar, non-stop gossip, whoa-is-me, how can I help you martyrdom. There were several sides to each of her two faces and it was anybody’s guess who you’d get and when. The one thing she was most proficient at was social manipulation. It’s sad that what I remember most about this parent was her tenacity when it came to interloping and dividing. What I mean by that is this: She would find the two best buds in the room, become the third wheel (usually by going through the children involved) and then push one of the best buds out. I saw the pattern over and over and over. She did it with her kids and their friends. She’d turn grown adults, girlfriends, teachers, students, against each other. Mostly with lies. She broke up friendships for sport. She had people fired and seriously ruined more than a few, very young lives in her wake. She had the front office in her back pocket and whenever a new boy her son’s age would enter our grade, it was agreed, she’d get the first call to roll out the welcome mat. No one ever called Neurosis (or the school for that matter) out on her behavior, and soon enough my family and I were up to her proverbial bat.
Neurosis made it her life’s work to take my fun-loving, gentle, always excited to see her and be in school with this friends, son, and catalog ALL of his faults to any teacher, any other mom, any friend of mine, anyone who would listen. All of this was done under the guise of friendship. When we were together, say on a family vacation, or a retreat to the wine country she so sweetly allowed my husband to take us on, to my face, my Chase was just “precious and such a good friend” to her child. To my face, she would drone on about how her own son would just die if Chase and he were not put in the same class. And behind my back, she’d request Chase be put in another class, because, yep - he was just too much boy. Lucky for me, there were people looking out for us who were honest enough to make sure I knew what was going on. Of course, she made sure to isolate my son and get him kicked out of his friend group. He said as much to us over dinner one night when he was say - seven and a half.
Once again, Chase didn’t skip a beat. He missed his old friend but with honesty and nightly prayers at the helm, understood what was happening. He made new, really good friends, with non-deceitful families. But in doing so, he’d sometimes come to me and say he had a nightmare that Mrs. Neurosis stole his best friend away. People of the world, can you imagine this?
Y’all, I am less shocked by Trevor’s mom than I am by the fact that a woman like Neurosis actually exists. No joke. Suffice it to say, we hightailed it out of there. Not surprisingly, after we did, the flood gates opened and out came everyone she ever wronged. For a while I felt like Lucy from Peanuts, standing behind the “kisses for five cents” booth. And I’ll never, ever forget the woman who I met for less than thirty seconds around Neurosis’ kitchen island, the one whose name I have to try super hard to remember, coming up to me at a party and apologizing for “believing everything” Neurosis ever said about me and my God awful son (don’t worry, she took aim at my daughter too). I never took the time to find out what any of it was, because seriously, what strangers think of me is zero of my business. I’m sure she had good intentions.
This to say, Chase remains friendly with the son of Neurosis, because as I surmised years later, it was never really about the boys. Especially after she had her husband call mine and ask if her boy could be invited to our home for a party Chase was having. And not just once. Read that again.
Today, this too much boy of mine is thriving. He’s in a place where he is valued for his talents, his grit, his humor, and even his class clownness. He was selected and identified immediately upon entering high school to participate in an ambassadorship for leaders that summit each year at an Ivy League college of their choice. Legit mom-brag material. He plays the piano, football and lacrosse. He has taught himself to be bilingual. He holds down a job and also has a friend group full of people who really love him. Just as we do. He has an IQ of 147 and took the ACT in the 7th grade with a group of kids just like him. The others all got recognition for this during a school ceremony. Chase did not. And yet, he perseveres. He knows exactly who he is. He’s still a lot sometimes. But he’s never conformed because a teacher said he should be medicated (his doctor emphatically denied him medication citing “no reason at all for it”). He didn’t conform because a mother said he wasn’t good enough or he was too much. He stayed the course and kept his jeans on while doing it. He fought. He’s still fighting. He’s never let go of his person, and should he falter, I’m right behind him, exactly where I swore I’d be 16 years ago. And all of that excess energy? See above.
But I guess the thing I am most proud of is the steadfast love Chase has for his Faith. His love of God touches me deeply in the most unexpected moments. His closeness to our Lord and Savior sometimes surprises me but then I remember how far he has come and whose Hand has always been on his shoulder. When he quotes scripture to me at just the right moments, I am amazed. When he takes the tough times in our lives and relates them to stories of forgiveness and believing in His most sovereign power, I am taken back to the place we started. And the promises I made. This boy will never let me down. A friend of mine once said; “sometimes the hardest thing to understand is that God loves your children much more than you do.” God loves this boy, and he wears it well.
Mommas, hug your men babies. The ones that are too much only need more from us. Not less. Their successes and failures in life will never ever come from conforming and doing what others say they should, just because it’s good for them. Sitting quietly in a corner benefits no one. These men of ours have been born to be set free - whatever that looks like for you. Stand by and watch them fly. Raise your flag in their honor, every single time. Don’t listen to all the noise outside. Take heed only to all the beautiful space your boy takes up in the quietness of your heart.
Peace, love, thanks and acceptance tonight from me to you. xoxo
Signed,
Too Much Mom
